


you don't (do) belong here

by Authors_Restraint



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Jon is depressed, Post-Canon, Post-War for the Dawn, Sansa helps him
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-15 18:08:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17533643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Authors_Restraint/pseuds/Authors_Restraint
Summary: Jon gets drunk and has some really depressing thoughts about his family.





	you don't (do) belong here

**Author's Note:**

> this was the result of reading some really angsty jon and catelyn stories, and jon and lyanna stories. 
> 
> have fun and happy suffering!

He lifts the cup of ale to his lips and takes a large swig. He doesn't even know what number cup he's on, nor does he care. Tonight, he's going to get as drunk as possible. So much so that maybe he'll forget the he belongs in his childhood home even less than when he was a bastard.

 

It's infuriating, it's frustrating and he fucking _hurts_. He _hurts_. He hurts and he's angry. He's angry that he feels guilty for feeling angry. He should be grateful right? Lord Stark ( _not his father; Ned Stark is not his father, what the fucking hell_ ) risked his life to protect him. He'd raised him as his own son when he didn't have to. Jon doesn't have a right to be angry, does he?

 

Then again, he also didn't have the right to have been treated like the dirt under everyone's shoes for the first sixteen years of his life. He didn't ask to be born. He didn't ask for Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark to abscond with each other, shaming both their houses and plunging the Seven Kingdoms into war. He didn't ask for the man everyone says is his birth father to get his mother, little more than a woman of sixteen, pregnant with child. He didn't ask for any of this.

 

Now the Northern Lords look at him with thinly veiled distaste. He knows what they see when they look at him. His parents were the reason for the war and he knows that when they look at him, they see the tens of thousands of lives that died. They look at him and hate for it.

 

He gulps down a mouthful of ale again. A bitter laugh escapes his lips and he feels the silent tears streaming down his cheeks. Even after all these years, Catelyn Stark was right.

 

_'It should have been you.'_

 

She was right.

 

If Jon had never been born, Lyanna Stark would have lived a few more years. He'd killed his mother, had he not? That made him a kinslayer, didn't it?

 

If Jon had never been born, Ned Stark would have never have had to compromise his honour, and his mariage, to protect Jon.

 

Jon wasn't worth all that trouble anyway.

 

_'I should have died in that fucking war. I should have gone down just as Dany and her dragons did.'_

 

It would have been something like justice. The end of House Targaryen for good. He should have died.

 

He doesn't understand why the hell he's alive. It's probably the Gods' cruelest joke. They taunted him with a way to destroy the Night King. A way to end the war forever. A way for him to finally die in peace. He'd wanted it.  _Gods_ , how he'd wanted it. He'd been expecting to die; had been anticipating it since the moment he'd risen on that slab in Castle Black. He'd been on borrowed time and he knew it.

 

The Gods are cruel. They let him defeat the enemy,  _all_ their enemies (for Daenerys had always been their enemy; their familial and short-lived incestuous relationship had never blinded to that) but they won't let him die. They won't let him rest.

 

Jon is  _tired_ .

 

He just wants to lie down and close his eyes for the last time and  _not_ with the thought that he might be awoken again to fight in some other war. He can't do it anymore. He's only twenty-and-two but he feels ancient. He envies Alliser Thorne. The man is dead and gone but his last words have never left Jon.

 

_'You'll be fightin' their battles forever.'_

 

Jon downs the last contents of his cup and slouches against the stone wall of his room. The bed isn't far but he doesn't move. If anyone were to come looking for him (not that he believes anyone  _will_ , except for- _no_ ) and were to find him like this, Jon imagines that there would be quite the gossip for the castle staff. Not that he cares at this particular moment.

 

He wipes his wet cheeks and closes his eyes. A headache is forming at his temples and brow, so he presses his face into the cold stone.

 

He thinks of his mother. He doesn't even know what about her that he wants to imagine. He just wants to think of her. He imagines the stone wall as her statue in the crypt and a slow, soft sigh escapes him. That's good. It feels good to think of her, even if she's only a statue now.

 

His breath catches however, as he remembers that it's  _his_ fault she's even a statue in the first place. He's the one who killed her. How did Ned Stark look at him everyday, love him, care for him like a son when  _he's_ the one who took his sister from him?

 

“I'm sorry,” he whispers to the stone. He doesn't know if he's apologizing to his mother, or his father (uncle), or both. “I'm so sorry.”

 

The tears return and he feels like a fool for crying, but he's held all this in for so long, he needs to let it out. The tears come steadily and silently (just as he's always done everything) and Jon doesn't hold them back. He's tired of being strong.

 

For once he just wants to be weak.

 


End file.
